


Silence

by KaelsMiscellany



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3b AU, Banter, Basically PWP, F/M, Lydia Martin - HBIC, Peter is an evil little shit, but we wouldn't have him any other way, eh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 05:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8434348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: Lydia just wanted some peace and quiet, instead she gets something else.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo....hi everyone.
> 
> I started this fic way back in the middle of 3B (I'm apparently on a bit of a 'get old shit finished damn it!' thing...), so we're all just gonna ignore that whole ending for the most part. xD 
> 
> Then again it's PWP, so really I guess it doesn't matter...

After the whole Stiles-nogitsune fiasco—really there was no better way to describe it—everyone agreed that she needed to have lessons. And until they could find another banshee, or someone else equally qualified, the default was Peter. Everyone also agreed that there should be a chaperone; she'd vetoed Aiden immediately, she didn't need her occasional fuck-buddy and antagonist-in-waiting in the same room together for any length of time, and Allison, while she did love her she hadn't exactly been helpful that first time.

In the end the chaperone list ended up being: Scott, Stiles, Derek, Danny, and Ethan.

Of course they'd come up with the list before they'd built the silent room. Inspired by anechoic chambers her's was a bit more specific; with an actual floor and enough string lacing through the room that it looked a lot like a lazer-maze mock-up.

The only major downside was that no werewolf, except Peter, could stay in it for any great length of time, something about the lack of sound freaking them out and them being outside the chamber kind of defeated the purpose of there being a chaperone. Stiles couldn't stay in it for too long either, apparently the lack of sound reminded him too much of being trapped in his mind, and, well, Lydia didn't want to keep calling Danny every time she wanted to use the silence room, as everyone had taken to calling it.

So she hadn't thought it necessary to tell anyone she was going over for some peace and quiet, especially since she had not intention at all of interacting with Peter.

Luck was on her side and the loft was empty when she got there. She opened the door to the room and stepped in. Normally she didn't have to turn the light on to walk through the room, but considering she'd worn dangerously high heels today she decided she didn't want to risk her neck and flicked the light switch. Closing the door she made her way deeper into the room, ignoring any whispering she accidentally set off. Reaching one of the empty spots she slipped off her backpack and settled in, intent on spending the next two hours or so listening to nothing more than the sounds of herself.

Closing her eyes to the rainbow of string, all of her recent lessons had focused on isolating different emotions and states to corresponding colors, she focused on breathing and the sound of her blood rushing through her.

She only got about forty-five minutes of her peace and quiet though before an unwelcome interruption came. She gotten nearly werewolf good at identifying sounds in her room, so when the door opened she didn't need to open her eyes to know it was Peter. “Go away.”

He didn't say anything as he stepped through the room, setting off fewer strings than she had, and this go around she had a hard time not listening to them— _fourteencomesreadystrong, dangertouchwakeshearts, lifenotswayedshereaches._

“Peter.”

She could almost hear his smile. “Ah Lydia. Have I ever told you how much I enjoy how you say my name?” The flatness of voices in her room didn't even register anymore.

Deciding she might as well humor the mood he was in she opened an eye. “Numerous times.”

He brushed against a final string— _Praxidikedreamsofthedarknessofsummer_ —before squatting down in front of her. “And have I told you how ravishing you look today?”

Must be the three inch heels, she thought bemusedly as she opened the other eye. “Not that I particularly cared, but thank you.”

His grin was wry and far too young for his face. “Ah, I wonder how many hearts you've wounded with that sharp tongue of yours.”

“Not as many as I would have liked.” She looked away from him to a nearby green string—“Green is life and growing things”. “And apparently not yours. What do you want?”

“Oh how you wound me, and what makes you think I want anything?”

In response she gave him a flat look and arched an eyebrow.

His grin turned self-deprecating as he sat down properly. “How is Malia?”

Lydia didn't even need her strings to hear the pain singing off of him right then. “Still at Eichen House.” While she was always short with him, it usually wasn't this short. “If what Tate is doing bothers you so much you should sue for custody.”

He arched an eyebrow of his own. “Now you know I can't exactly do that, we wouldn't want those scientists looking at my DNA now would we?”

“I couldn't care less, and it's your problem not mine. Now leave me to my silence.”

Peter stayed where he was, though at least he didn't speak again.

After a few minutes of silence, she found herself feeling a little guilty for her earlier shutdown, not the fact that she'd done it, more that it just didn't feel right to use Malia against Peter like that. “She's taken to pulling pranks on some of the other patients, she's quite proud of that for some reason, though I don't think Beacon Hills needs more tricksters of any sort.” Bad enough they had Stiles, and now a whole clan of kitsune—even if almost all of them were Inari kitsune—running around, add into that mix a girl who seemed hellbent on reenacting every Coyote folktale ever told and Beacon Hills really needed a good dose of order.

He gave her a real smile in response, and she did her damnedest to ignore the fact that it changed him completely. “How often do you go see her?”

“At least once a week,” for some bizarre reason she was the only person in the Pack that Malia would willingly talk to, so there was lots of back and forth. If she didn't find Malia a halfway interesting girl to be around it would be tiresome. Finally deciding to give up the ghost of Peter leaving her alone she straightened a little. “Well since you apparently want to stay, why don't you make it worth my while.”

Peter arched an eyebrow, “What, a lesson?”

She shrugged. “Might as well.”

“Well then, let's try something a little different. Close your eyes please.” She did, even though she had serious reservations about it. “While the string is a useful tool, it's also a crutch, there are plenty of places where it just isn't a feasible way of tapping the stream. So let's try and see what you can pick up without touching any of the strings.”

Giving a soft sigh Lydia settled in and started regulating her breathing. As her mind cleared the sounds of her own body faded away; Peter's breathing soon matched hers, letting her tune it out too. Soon she felt like nothing more that a still lake, just waiting for something to create some ripples.

— _Stitchkissescomecloser. He wants to touch you—_ She did her best to stifle a gasp of surprise as her eyes flew open.

He didn't miss much though. “What? What did you hear?”

Refusing to succumb to the childish tactic of looking at anything but him, she looked him straight in the eye. “Do you want to touch me?”  


For a moment he was silent and she relished the look of surprise on his face. “And what if I do?”

“Why?”

Most times it was hard to tell if Peter was wolfing out or not, what with his human eyes nearly the same color as his wolf eyes, but somehow she could tell right away that his eyes would be glowing if the lights were out. “I've told you before Lydia that you're a very beautiful young woman, why would I not want to touch you.”

She arched an eyebrow. “If you find me so attractive why do I keep seeing you flirt with other women?”

“I would like to point out that the operative word in that sentence of yours is 'seeing',” he gave a devilish smile. “Maybe I enjoy watching your reactions. You always seem quite possessive for someone who couldn't care less about me.”

Now she gave in and refused to look at him. “So?”

He crawled closer, his body becoming a long line of heat against her own. “So I think if you told me you weren't attracted to me I could say you were lying.”

Lydia forced herself to look at him again; he hadn't shaved recently, and for a moment her mind went into the forbidden territory of imagining how that stubble would feel rasping against her skin.

His nostrils flared, and his next inhale was pointedly noisy. “Smell that?” Oh so slowly one of his hands rose up and rested on her cheek, the thumb beginning to stroke her cheekbone. “That is interest. Shall I elaborate for you?”

She felt her cheeks heat, but refused to be cowed. “Illuminate me.”

Somehow his smile grew more...dirty, and for a moment all Lydia could picture was him tying her down to railroad tracks. “All werewolves use their sense of smell, but for most it falls by the wayside in comparison to sight and sound, which is a shame.” He leaned in even closer, talking up her whole vision. “Because you get good enough and you can tell so much from a person just by their scent.” His hand moved down a fraction, cupping her jaw. “For example a few moments ago you had a particularly intriguing thought involving something most likely sexual; your arousal always smells of caramel.” Leaning in closer now his nose brushed her ear. “I could just eat it up.”

Her heart raced and she was finding it a bit hard to breath. “Really?” She didn't even realize she could do innocent ingenue.

“Oh yes,” so very lightly she felt his teeth graze the shell of her ear. “Lick, suck, slurp, and nibble it right up.”

A moan escaped her, the walls of her silence room gobbling up the echoes and making it a strange sounding thing.

“Imagine what I could do to you Lydia, if only you'd let me.”

Imagination was part of the problem though, her mind swinging wildly from the hottest sex she could imagine to vivid and gruesome murder.

He nibbled on her jaw. “What are you thinking?”

“That I don't know if you want to fuck me or murder me.”

Peter gave a deep chuckle that only echoed deep in her bones. “Isn't that half the fun with someone like me? Your body alive with hormones and finding yourself between flight or fight, yet unable to do either? Why don't you say yes and find out.”

It might have been the truth, but hearing him say it somehow made it more real, and she found herself reaching for it before she even realized what she was doing. His stubble scratched her as she kissed him and she relished every moment of it. “Bed,” she managed to gasp out as he moved down to ravage her neck.

A shriek of surprise escaped her as Peter scooped her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he started weaving his way through string. — _wickedwaysdarknessfallscalls childwareblood fuckyourshadow apivotintheworld change_ —

After the silence of her room the world was almost too loud; to distract herself she threw herself into seeing how often she could make Peter stumble. She got up to eight by the time he reached the stairs, after which she stopped because really, ruining possibly fantastic sex with snapped necks—even if it was a helical staircase and thus harder to fall down—was not what she had planned. Ungracefully she bounced on the bed when Peter tossed her onto it and found herself feeling disturbingly exposed as he looked down on her.

Needing to distract him she raised herself up a little, pushing her chest forward. “Well? I thought you were going to eat me all up?”

The smile he gave her in response was full of too many sharp teeth for her liking but he still descended on her, clawed fingers making short work of her blouse. Lightly he traced the lace of her viper-green bra. “How daring Miss Martin.”

Deciding she'd rather not see her nice wool skirt meet the fate of her blouse she quickly shimmied out of it, leaving her in her underwear, thigh-high stocking, and her heels. Peter crawled onto the bed and she let herself lie back down. “Come and eat me then.”

Again that too-toothy smile. “Oh I will.” He lowered himself down and began nibbling her bra, just barely catching the skin of her breast. His bites grew more aggressive the closer he got to her nipple, the pain spiraling with pleasure.

Anticipation built up inside her, only to be disappointed when all he did was lick her nipple once before moving on. A whine escaped her and she found her hands weaving through his hair, trying to get him to go back.

Peter gave a dark chuckle. “All in good time Lydia, you just need to lie back and let me enjoy my feast in peace.”

It took all her self-control to release him and return her hands to her sides, to try and prevent herself from doing it again she slipped her hands under her back.

“Very good.” His mouth returned to nibbling-biting and his hands now joined the fray: claws scratching her skin, his right hand getting caught up in kneading her scars. A gasp escaped her as his left hand dipped wonderfully low, only to rise up again, the teasing stoking her higher.

His mouth left her breast to return to her neck while his right thumb dug into her scar tissue. “You have no idea how hard it is to not give you a matching set.” As if to punctuate his meaning the claws on his left hand dug lightly into her hip. “Maybe then everyone would understand how serious I am.”

A traitorous moan escaped her.

“If I had known then what I knew now that night on the field would have gone much differently. Remember those dreams I gave you?”

Unbidden they came to mind: wiggling and fighting to get away as claws bared sinew and bones. Him finally drawing screams from her throat as the ground swallowed her whole.

Peter sucked her collarbone hard and she arched into the distraction. “Not what I want,” she managed to get out.

“Well that's unfortunate,” he moved down past her breasts to her stomach, barely-there kisses making a trail down. “There were some good ones in there.” His lips brushed the hem of her panties and for a moment she stopped breathing. His hands slid around to tilt her hips up, and she watched as he began pulling her panties down, with his teeth.

She forced herself to breath as she also fought the urge to do more. If Peter wanted to eat her out she was going to damn well let him, it'd been far too long since the last time someone had done it to her. However, he stopped by her feet and she found herself wiggling a little. “What?”

For a moment she could feel the whorls of his fingers catching on her stockings, then he spoke. “I'm not sure if I want the shoes to stay or go.”

Biting back the urge to do something she might regret later she instead stretched her left leg as far as it would go, digging the spike of her heel into his shoulder. His pupils dilated disturbingly fast and she found herself entranced by the thin glowing ring of blue his eyes had become. And his voice was deliciously rough when he finally spoke again. “Nevermind, they're staying.”

Achingly slow he started moving back up, giving her legs the same treatment he'd given her breasts. The farther he moved up the further her legs spread apart to accommodate him, until she was practically flaunting herself.

“Caramel with just a hint of apple.” Almost too fast for her to register his tongue flicked out and brushed the seam of her pussy, the bolt of pleasure it caused was a lot harder to miss and she arched her hips to try and get him to do it again.

His hands came up and she felt claws prickle her skin as he spread her almost painfully wide, though any discomfort she might have felt vanished when his tongue started its assault in earnest.

Too soon orgasm crashed over her and she went limp. Peter kept at his work, not letting a single drop of her juices escape him.

Then, when she thought she couldn't take anymore, he started all over again. Tongue lashing and dipping and curling, and fuck she wanted something more substantial inside her but Peter seemed content to eat her out with only his tongue.

And then his teeth joined the fray. Lydia trashed and whimpered and in an effort to keep her hands where they were she'd dug so hard with her nails that she drew blood. Like a wild animal Peter's head shot up, and she keened at the sudden cessation of her orgasm.

“Oh Lydia,” Peter cooed. She felt his claws dig into her hips, felt the half moons of blood that welled up. “You really shouldn't have.”

Before she can even completely understand his words he renewed his attack: slurping and licking and nibbling; the occasional bite to her inner thigh; his claws pinning her down; her own nails digging in deeper, trying to keep her arms in place, stopping her from lacing her fingers through his hair and yanking him up.

Her orgasm roared through her like a conflagration and she whined as he kept at it again, winding her up for her fourth before she could even properly recover from number three.

It soon started to be too much, her mind felt like it was turning to goo, and her body was wrung out and exhausted. So orgasm this time only netted Peter a tiny sigh and her body feeling like the stuffing been knocked out. “Peter,” it's barely a whisper but somehow she got it out, even if she wasn't really sure what she's trying to convey.

Peter rose up from between her legs, everything below his nose practically dripping with her juices. Their eyes met and he began cleaning himself, so slow and leisurely that she squirmed. When he finished his smile was all teeth. “You couldn't be more beautiful if you tried.” Out of everything that's what made her flush.

He got up, but she's too lethargic to even think of moving to watch him. It didn't take him very long to return, on his hands and knees above her.

Somehow she managed to work up the energy to glare at him and raise a leg high enough to dig the heel of her shoe into his thigh. “You'd better...be wearing...a condom...or by the moon I...swear I'll cas...castrate you.”

He leaned down, his face nuzzling her jawline as he chuckled, the sound thrumming through her and making her shiver. “Of course, I'm hardly a hormonal teenager Lydia.” She didn't even feel him enter, she was so wet it wass like he just appeared inside her, she clenched in surprise and he hummed. “Mmmm, perfect.” He started moving and her flush deepened at the obscene squelching noises her overstimulated body made.

Lydia didn't know whether she should be frustrated or relieved by the slow pace he was setting, but he'd worn her out so thoroughly that she literally couldn't do anything more than lie there and take it. His cheek rubbed harder against her neck and jaw, and she managed a sound of annoyance at having to deal with stubble burn later.

He chuckled again. “I must say Lydia,” she wanted to murder him for being so coherent. “That while I do enjoy our little tête-a-têtes, there is something divinely enthralling about your silence.”

When she had fine motor control again she was going to strangle him. He moved his right hand from beside her shoulder and skimmed it down her side, briefly flicking her nipple before moving down to pull her leg over his hip. The slight change in angle had her sighing.

Then his hand dug into her scars and her body arched at the new layer of pain on top of everything else; her fifth orgasm was an unwelcome surprise, one that wrenched an actual scream out of her—something not even Jackson had managed to do—and she didn't think she could take any more. She opened her mouth but his left hand was there, cutting her off before she could even formulate the right words to say.

“Shhh, just a little bit longer Lydia, just a little bit more. You've taken so much already, so I know you can take this.”

Something strange and foreign was pushing into her and pressing against places she didn't even know could be pressed. It took far too long for her pleasure-wrecked brain to connect the dots; and by the time it did it was already too late. I'm going to murder you Peter Malachi Hale. You fucking knotted me, were her last thoughts before she blacked out.

-

When she came to she found herself laying on top of Peter like a blanket, though at least they weren't tied together anymore—small favors. Her movements were lethargic, but at least she could move, as she reached out and pinched the inside of Peter's elbow with her nails. “I hate you,” through even to her ears it was half-hearted.

Peter laughed, which threw her completely off guard. “She says to the man who gave her six orgasms.” She didn't even need to look up to know he had a smarmy look on his face, bastard.

Then his words sunk in, “what?!” She pushed herself up to stare him in the eye, and yep smarmy expression. “I'm pretty fucking”—oh god, that was Stiles levels of bad pun—“sure it was only five.”

She hadn't thought it possible, but his expression grew even more smug. “You had another one after you blacked out, it was quite impressive. Though I must admit I'm even more impressed that you managed to have enough sense throughout to keep track.”

Lydia sat up completely, and with both hands smacked his chest, only belatedly realizing she was now braless, though her stockings and heels still remained. “Asshole.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I'm fairly certain that neither of us are into that, but if you want to try I'm sure Derek has some lube we could steal.”

Which surprised a laugh of her own out of her. For the next few minutes they were quiet, just looking at each other and sharing in their bout of humor.

Then she raised herself up on her knees and shimmied off the bed. “Stay there, I want to try something.” She desperately hoped Derek wasn't back, because no clothes— thank God it's close enough to summer that she could probably get away with wearing the bikini top in her bag, though she'd probably get stares from her scars in return. Apparently the universe was smiling upon her and he's not; descending the stairs was fun, though she knew it could have been worse—spindly heels and hole-filled steps never worked out for anyone. Quickly she strode across the empty space and back into the silent room.

Every string seemed to practically thrum with unspoken words as she made her way through to her bag. — _Whatsingswhatsighs rockslikewater coffeenosugar milksoppale 'wareofcatsbearinglies poisonedsunholydark reachingtowardspeace_ — Grabbing it she dug around, searching for a familiar tube of lipstick, fingers curling around it she yanked it out, then brought it and her bag back out into the loft proper.

At the bottom of the stairs she set her bag down after pulling out her compact mirror. With deft movements she applied a coat of vibrant red.

As a side project during the past month or so she'd been researching lesser forms of wolfsbane, ones that could injure but not kill. Convincing Allison to order the strain for her after she'd found one she'd liked had been the hardest part, especially since the reason she wanted it was more than a little petty; she just wanted to be able to leave hickeys that stayed again.

Watching Aiden be flabbergasted over the hickeys she left that didn't immediately heal was always amusing.

Dropping the lipstick and compact onto her bag she strode back up the stairs and towards Peter, who'd moved up a little to prop himself against the headboard, already hard and wanting more apparently. “Well aren't you presumptive.”

He gave a wolf-grin. “You gave me such a fantastic show, I'm just showing my appreciation.”

With a wolfish grin of her own she slowed her approach to the bed, making her hips roll and her walk sinuous. “Would you like me to do something about it?”

He settled in a little more and arched an eyebrow. “Only if you'd like to. I'm willing to follow along.”

“Oh really?” She climbed onto the bed and crawled up to him. “Well we'll see what happens then.”

“Just how I like it.”

Very lightly she kissed him on the lips before nipping his jaw, then his neck.

“Ah.”

She hid her grin in his neck before striking: sucking hard on the crook of his, while lightly sinking her teeth in, just enough to break skin.

Peter snarled and gripped her hips hard enough to bruise...again. “Are we sure...mmmmmmm...that you didn't turn?...ah...because those are quite the teeth grandma.”

Lydia gyrated her hips against his, feeling his cock sliding between them. Finally she let go, rubbing her lips against her bite. “Fairly sure,” she relished her smug tone. “Though I'm glad you appreciate it.” Pulling back she admired the faint smoke rising off her first foray.

He shifted uncomfortably and made a face, only to sprout the biggest, most boyish smile moments later. “Oh, Lydia. Wolfsbane lipstick? Beautiful.”

She held herself higher. “So glad you approve.”

“Though I do hope it's non-lethal. If not, I'll admit I much prefer this death.”

Throwing her head back she laughed. “You keep flattering me like that and I might just stay.”

His smile turned cheeky. “Truth be told stealing you away from that pup would be a wonderful ego boost. Those as it stands if we keep this up you're going to have to avoid him for at least a week.” His earlier smugness was back.

She gave him a mock pout. “Maybe I'll spend the whole night in the shower. All wet and soapy and...” She leans in a little so she can whisper in his ear. “I want to do something else.”

“Alright,” Smooth, suave, always with a snappy line Peter sounded wrecked and it was the ultimate power rush.

“But you can't touch me,” tit for fucking tat.

In an instant his hands on her hips are gone, a brief glance down showed her they were digging into nearby pillows. As a reward she ground down on him once more before shimmying down his legs, her face now level with his chest she rubbed her lips all over, loving the faint trail of pink-red she left in her wake.

Moving lower she did the same to his torso, studiously avoiding the tip of his nearby cock. She wondered if Peter realized she kept gravitating towards the right side of his waist? Or if he was too blissed out to notice. Well he'd notice soon enough.

Before she could second guess herself, she struck once again. This time as her lips formed suction she sunk her teeth in as deep as she could; blood welled in her mouth and she surprised herself by drinking it down.

Though what surprised her most was the fact that Peter still hadn't touched her, not even to tear her away. Instead he roared, his hips bucking and...ah, that was him coming all over her breasts, well well. Glancing up she saw he'd completely wolfed out, head thrown back, claws shredding the poor pillows; she could get used to that.

With a self-satisfied smirk she gave a final suck before finally releasing her hold on him, once more rubbing her lips against the bite she'd left, this one she wanted to stay.

She let herself fall forward until she was basically draped over him. “That was fun.” And it was, who knew Peter had a thing for pain? Not something she was ever going to forget, though she should have guess it from her earlier action with her heels.

Peter only managed a strangled groan for a few moments, as if he'd lost the ability to speak; she'll admit she laughed at him. He seemed to gain some control of himself a minute or so later; though it was hard to tell, what with the drunken-sleepy look he currently wore. With a hum he nuzzled her jaw before laying sloppy open-mouthed kisses seemingly everywhere on her face and neck except her mouth. “You know what I’d love to do if you let me?” He even sounded sleepy.

Curiosity had her prompting. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away, moving down to nuzzle at her collarbones, before nipping at them lightly. “I want to take you without a condom and fill you so full you’re gushing. So full and knot you again.” Gently he bit her nipple. “Make you pregnant, show that stupid, idiot pup how to really fuck a woman.” He’s already growing hard again and, Jesus, it’s like she’d stepped into an erotica novel. “Tell me yes Lydia.” Somehow he managed to pull off sleepy and desperate, claws digging into her hips once more. “Just say yes and I’ll destroy the world if you asked it.”

Despite the fact that she would never, ever, let Peter do that to her in a million years, a spark of arousal still flared in her. Who knew that mentioning pregnancy would make sex with Peter feel even dirtier and kinkier? Though the fact that he sounded like he’d been fucked silly made it worse, and/or better depending on how you looked at it.

She stared down at him, his face in the valley of her breast, his soft breath against sensitive skin making her squirm; and said nothing.


End file.
